What's Love Got To Do With It?
by SexyFriendsMonkeys
Summary: When life threw her for a loop, she knew there was only one way out and no room for love - what happens when she finds the one who could change all that? By Becca Bing and JenniGellerBing. Please r&r, thanks. Cheers!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey! Yen here. So you've decided to read our fic. We thank you :) We are, in case you haven't realized, JenniGellerBing (who will hereafter be referred to as Yen) and Becca (or will hereafter be referred to as... well, Becca.) Oh, and if you don't know us personally, go read our bio. It's a real kick. In fact, it'll rock your socks like Chandler in a box!!!! 

Back to the fic. It should probably be rated R, but since hopefully none of yall have virginal eyes, it won't matter much. If anyone is outraged, tell us and we'll change it. I'm probably the youngest person here, so if I can _write_ it, can't yall read it?

ATTENTION: Becca would like to say that she is *still* on hiatus, because she is in NYC. However, we will be posting this regularly (hopefully) as long as you continue to love us! :)

Disclaimer: We don't own the characters. We do, however, own the ENTIRE Chandler In a Box collection (coming to a toy store near you!) 

The music was blaring loudly. She stood near the back, next to a cluster of small tables. Her eyes swept over the crowd, onto the dance floor. People moving and gyrating all over one another, their bodies pressed together. Strangers rubbing against each other, their most intimate parts touching. But it was all fun and games for them. They danced, they grooved, and at the end of the song, at the end of the night, it was over. Not for her.

A man clad in a dark suit strolled over to her and stood next to her. "Hello," he murmured softly. His voice was low and scratchy, and his breath stunk of alcohol and cigar smoke. She tried not to gag.

"Hello to you too," she said seductively. "What can I do for you tonight?" That was her line, his clue. Time to show her the money. 

He was a pro. He pulled several twenties out of his pocket and slipped half of them into her hand. She quickly counted them.

"It's 600 for the whole night," she said. "There's only one hundred here." The deal these days was that you paid half before and half after - kind of a guarantee for both sides. And if she didn't show - well, he would find her. 

"I know," he said. "I only need two hours."

"One hundred twenty more and you've got a deal," she replied. He sighed and took out his wallet again, handing her three more twenties. She thought she should charge more - this guy was disgusting, he was filthy, not the kind of upper-class, married man who usually came for her - but as she'd thought before, he was a pro. If she didn't come, there were plenty of 16 year old girls on street corners who would do it. And she needed the money. 

"I like a girl who knows what she wants," he said. "7400 West 10th, apartment 4C. I'll see you at 10:00." The man sauntered away, up to a group of similarly vile men. 

Rachel Greene pivoted on her heel and left the sleazy night club. She had a job for tonight. That's all she'd come for. 

She climbed off the panting, sweaty man and quickly grabbed her short blue skirt. She hustled around the bedroom, searching for her thong and garters, which he'd ripped off and thrown in his passion. She did not speak or look at the man still recovering on the bed. She felt ill; she wanted to get out of the dank, smoky, gross apartment more than anything. But she'd have no where to go, really - just home, to tiny, old one-room apartment in the Bronx that she shared with another girl. 

"Come over here for a little more, sugar," he said heavily, reaching out and touching her arm as she walked by. She pulled away in disgust. She'd had enough of those hands touching her tonight. 

"You paid for one," she said airily.

"Yeah, well, I got something better than money," he said, reaching under the bed and pulling out a bag of green, crushed leaves. 

Rachel was interested, and he could see it on her face. "It good?" 

"The best," he promised. "No bullshit." 

"Give it here." He tossed the bag to her, and she took some out and smelled it. Then she put a bit on her tongue. It was bitter, but she could tell it would be good. She glanced at him, and then she got back on the bed.

Ten minutes later, she washed out her mouth in the sink, afraid she might throw up. He'd tasted awful. But the weed - the weed was worth it. She found the guy passed out on his bed and quickly searched for his pants. Upon finding them she reached inside, pulled out his wallet, and grabbed the three twenties inside of it. She deserved a bonus. Then, with the bag and the money in her pocket, she hurried out of the building and began the long walk to her meeting place.

"Hey - uh, Rachel?"

Rachel spun around. The voice calling her was young and feminine and sounded slightly afraid.

"Yeah?" she said warily.

"Um - um, hi."

The girl stepped out of the darkness. She was skinny as a rail, wearing a white dress and a heavy coat that Rachel eyed enviously. She had on too much make-up, but she was pale and tired-looking. Her brown hair was raggedy and limp. She couldn't have been older than 20, Rachel's age, and she was shivering. Rachel gasped.

"_Monica?_"

"Thank God you recognize me," Monica said. 

"Of course I recognize you - wait, what are you doing here? How did you know I was here?" Rachel wrapped her arms around herself protectively, suddenly ashamed that her old best friend might know what she did for a living.

"I need some help," Monica said, stepping closer. "I need money badly and I... I know what you do."

"You don't want to get into this. This is serious, this is miserable... why do you need money? What about NYU and being a chef? What about your parents?" When Monica didn't answer, Rachel said, "Oh, honey, did they kick you out?"

"Yeah," Monica mumbled. "Yeah, they kicked me out. So do you think you could... get me a job?"

Rachel studied her friend. "I don't want to, Mon. I don't want you to live like me. It's not fun. If you just left... I _can't_ go back, my parents won't even take my calls... if you _can_ go back to your parents... go. "

"I can't. Rachel, please," Monica begged. 

"Okay. If you're sure... there's a guy...."

A tall blonde girl wearing a flowery green skirt and a glimmery top with black boots appeared in Rachel's vision. "Hey, Pheebs, how'd you do tonight?"

"Oh, great," Pheebs said, actually smiling. "I got some old businessman, obviously from out of town. Took me to this nice hotel on the Upper east side. Didn't know how to act about it, it was hysterical. He didn't know the rules either, so I overcharged a tad. Got his watch off the floor too." She grinned evilly. "I can probably get a hundred or so for it. How 'bout you?"

"I got the biggest ass this side of Staten Island," Rachel complained. "His apartment smelled like fucking cigarettes and he stank like shit. _But_ - " she raised her eyebrows. "I got this." She pulled out the bag, and Phoebe grabbed it and opened it.

"This is good shit!" she exclaimed. "What'd you do for it?"

"You don't wanna know," Rachel said. "Now roll it fast, I need some."

"You got it, babe," Phoebe said. "Hey, Rach, who the hell is that?"

"Oh! This is Monica. She's my friend from high school. She's gonna see Joey."

"Ah," Phoebe said knowingly. "You takin' her?"

"I'll drop her off in front. I ain't going up there so he can take my bonus off me."

"Um, what do I have to do? To, ya know, work with him?" Monica asked. 

"Well, you have to fuck him," Rachel said. "And I'll put a good word in for you, so it won't be too hard."

Monica nodded faintly. "I see." She looked rather sick, but thankfully Phoebe held up a freshly rolled joint and handed 

it to Rachel. Rachel lit it and then put it in her mouth.

"Ah," she said faintly. It made her feel warm inside, and the feeling went straight to her head. She handed it to Phoebe, who puffed on it and handed it back. After taking a long drag, Rachel held it out to Monica.

"Want some?"

Monica stared at it.

"Um, I've never, actually, had any - "

"You've _never_ gotten high?" Phoebe said incredulously. "Damn, girl, I've been getting high since I was twelve!"

"Pheebs isn't the norm," Rachel said. "But Mon, ohhhh my God, you _have got_ to try this."

"Isn't it, like, addictive?"

Rachel and Phoebe glanced at each other. "_We're_ not addicted. You can't _get_ addicted the first few times anyway," Rachel said.

"Just like you can't get pregnant the first time," Phoebe said knowingly. 

"Right. Look, just take it. It'll make tonight easier," Rachel said coercively. Looking dubious, Monica took to joint and put it in her mouth. She inhaled sharply, and Rachel hid a smile as her face contorted. She started coughing and handed it back to Rachel. Phoebe chuckled.

"That's..." she trailed off, looking dazed. "That's actually kinda nice."

Rachel burst out in laughter.

"So what do I, ya know, _do_?" Monica gasped a while later as the three women sat on the ground, passing around the joint. 

"To Joey?" Phoebe asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, you should be really confident - all slick and seductive," Rachel said. "That worked for me."

"And don't talk," Phoebe said. "He doesn't like talk."

"It confuses him," Rachel added. 

"So basically I just walk up to his door and start... taking off my clothes?"

Rachel and Phoebe looked at each other. "I guess so," Rachel said. "Well, first, you have to, ah, prep him. 

"And then kiss him a little bit, get him all worked up. Make it really... sensual, and special. Like _he's_ the most 

important guy in the universe." Phoebe grinned. 

"And hang around afterwards... usually we just leave, but make sure to talk to him at the end, when he's calm and relaxed, and he'll definitely give you the job," Rachel added confidently. "Don't look so scared, Mon, you'll be fine."

"Yeah, Joey's not that bad," Phoebe said. "A pretty fine fuck, too."

"Just cause you do it _recreationally..._" Rachel murmured. She glanced at her watch. "Hey, we'd better go. Don't wanna keep Joey up _too_ late." The girls giggled again, and then Rachel and Monica headed off in the opposite direction of Phoebe, who still had the joint.

They rode the subway for what seemed like a very long time to Monica. She sat slouched in her seat, looking at the orange plastic that the seats were mad of. It seemed twisted and way too shiny.

"This plastic is pretty," she said aloud. "Do you think I could have one of these?"

"Sure, whatever," Rachel said. "Hey, this is us." She stood up stiffly and exited the train. Monica also stood up, but attempted to take her seat with her. She pulled and pried, but she could not get the seat to come up.

"Monica, come on," Rachel whined. The train began to leave the station. When Monica refused to leave her precious chair, Rachel stalked back inside, grabbed her arm, and pulled her out.

"You are the _worst_ high person I've ever seen," she grumbled. Never letting go of a slightly dazed Monica's, she marched her all the way to Joey's apartment.

A/N: Thanks for reading this first chapter. It gets more interesting and WILL be C&M. Now review nicely or Becca will send Chuck, Chandler's evil twin, upon all of you! Go on, now! 

*Yen* and *Becca*


	2. Chapter 2

**What's Love Got to Do With it?** – chapter 2

A/N: Hey, Bec here. That's right, it's Becca! (*random whispers* but I thought she disappeared!!! Omg she's still alive?! Who's Becca? I dunno…I hear she sexes up monkeys…oh right!!) Is there something wrong with your computer if, when u want an underline, u have to turn OFF the underline button and vise versa? *kills it* Grr…  Anyways, I'm still technically not writing any new stuff, but this is an A/N so, it's cool. Anyways, Yen and I would just like to say 1) This probably _isn't _anything like Pretty Woman…I mean aside from the hooker…ness 2) No, Julie, we are not calling it "A Tale of 3 Hookers" 3) This chapter is the big reason why one could argue it should be rated R – but since we've gotten no complaints so far, we'll keep going at PG-13 until someone asks us not to. Ok, that's all…I think… On behalf of Yen and myself, thanks for all the lovely reviews. Please read and review this chapter, thanks!

**Disclaimer: **Yen and I don't have a funny disclaimer, so she told me say that "I don't have a funny disclaimer". Bland, huh? Well, we don't own these characters, although Yen might claim she does…

Chandler Bing glanced at his watch. 8:30 on a Friday night. Almost everyone else had left the office - _probably on dates_, Chandler thought sourly. He didn't have a date. He hardly ever had dates. All of his friends - well, all four - had dates that night, and here he was, stuck in the office at a dead-end job, single and alone. It was pathetic. 

He could always leave the office. Chandler could leave whenever he wanted. It's not like anyone really noticed him, anyway. But he had nothing to go home to. Sure, he had a nice apartment, and a cool roommate (who was probably out with a girl, or perhaps even five, as he always was), and cable, but he had no one to hang out with, and no girlfriend to meet. 

He listened to Jimmy, the custodian, vacuuming outside of his office. Maybe it was time to go. He packed up his briefcase and shut the door behind him. He smiled at Jimmy on his way out and pushed the elevator button. 

"Hey, um - Chandler?" a female voice called out. Chandler spun around. Alison, an intern, was running up to him. She wasn't that much younger than him, maybe 22 or 23, but she was _hot_. 

"Hey, Alison," Chandler said. "Um, can I help you with something?"

"Well, I was just wondering, if you're not doing anything tonight, maybe we could go out for drinks?" 

Chandler almost dropped his briefcase. "Well, uh, ah... sure!" he stammered. Was the young sexy intern really asking him out? "That sounds great!"

"Okay, well, I still have some stuff to do here tonight, but how about around nine-ish? There's this great little bar up by Bleecker and West tenth street, you want to meet there?" Alison said.

"Sure," Chandler said. "I will see you there." He smiled and turned away to step into the elevator. Unfortunately, the doors almost closed on him. He stumbled, but straightened up and went down, dancing as the elevator moved. 

Chandler stared at the empty beer bottle in front of him. He picked it up and tilted it over his mouth, straining for a few drops. There were none, which shouldn't have been surprising, considering he'd already done the exact same thing twice. 

"We're closin' up, buddy," the bartender said. "It's 1." Chandler looked up at him, and his face swam. 

"Jus' one more," Chandler said.

The bartender picked up the six empty bottles sitting in front of Chandler and held them up. "I'm cutting you off. Sorry." 

Chandler nodded and stood up. He grasped the counter as his legs turned to jelly. 

"Door's that way," the bartender said, gesturing to Chandler's left.

"Thank you," Chandler said, and started out. He stumbled to the curb and waited for a few minutes before a taxi arrived. 

"Rough night?" the cabbie said. Chandler wished he wouldn't speak so loudly - it made his head hurt.

"Uh-huh."

_That's an understatement_, he thought. Alison had never shown up. He'd been stood up, which, in all honestly, Chandler had to admit, wasn't that surprising.

Chandler made his way home and fell into his barcalounger, his head throbbing, his stomach churning, wanting to do nothing but fall into bed and sleep away the ultimate hangover that was undoubtedly coming - and that's when he heard the knock. 

Monica shuffled nervously outside of the door. In an attempt to fight her anxiety, she hastily knocked on the door and then took a few strides backward. The hallway was dark and cold, and Monica felt herself involuntarily shiver. She pulled her long, black coat closer to her body by hugging herself tightly as she rubbed the length of her arms. She found herself absently yet apprehensively pacing in front of the door. 

_Come on, you have to do this!_ She reminded herself, _you **have **to! _Upon receiving no answer, Monica knocked on the door once again, this time a bit louder and longer than before. Still, no one answered. She allowed her hands to run over the dark green painted door as she waited. The door felt smooth at her touch, fascinating her intently. Her fingertips burned as they caressed the door softly and she concentrated on the fire beneath her. 

Still, she couldn't escape the questions that suddenly entered her head. What was she doing there anyway? She now understood why the girls insisting on getting high in order to get through the job. There was too much to think about and too much to keep you from getting the job done. Feeling much too uneasy to wait any longer and apprehensive of the risk of being seen, she turned to leave. However, she had only gotten a few feet away when the door opened, causing her to gasp in shock.

"Can I help you?" 

The soft yellow light from the apartment cascaded over Monica, causing her to squint for a few moments. Once her eyes adjusted, she turned around and studied the man intently. He was young and clean cut, with light brown hair and sparking blue eyes. He seemed to have a friendly demeanor--not at all like Monica had expected him to be. He was actually quite cute. _Huh._ _No fur coats or oversized rings_. 

"Uh, yeah…I…" Monica trailed off nervously, unable to form the words needed. Then, Rachel and Phoebe's advice began to ring through Monica's ears. She had to be forward and defiant with him. That was what Joey wanted from his women. And if that was what Joey wanted, then that was what Joey was going to get. "I'm here for the job…" 

Chandler scrunched his brow in confusion as he attempted to recall the past few days. Had he hired her for something? _Job? What job?  _"Excuse me?" 

Monica smiled and then pushed past him and entered the apartment. He was obviously playing hard to get - testing her - so Monica took that as her indication to be aggressive with him. She would play right along with his little game and she would pass with honors. "Nice place ya got here…"

"Umm…thanks…"

Monica studied the room for a moment. It was a comfortably sized apartment, especially for something in Manhattan. She noticed two leather recliners that sat in front of a large entertainment center.  She allowed her eyes to linger on them, implanting the black leather in her mind, instead of focusing on his face. 

"I guess I should've expected a nice place, considering what you do for a living." 

"Huh?"

"You know." 

"Right…" _A data processor? So what? _

Chandler was beginning to get nervous. What did this woman want with him? She didn't look familiar at all to him. In fact, Chandler was positive he had never met her before. After all, he would not have forgotten a woman that he found so breathtakingly beautiful. And, just like he usually felt with beautiful women, he was at a loss of intelligent things to say, although the liquor was not helping either. 

Monica walked up to Chandler, and stopped so close to him that their faces were only centimeters apart. In a low, seductive voice, she whispered, "So, what do I need to do for you?"

Chandler raised his eyebrows. "Do?" _Is she really offering what I'm hoping she's offering? _

"Yeah, ya know…" she lightly ran her hands over the gray t-shirt that covered his chest and then leaned in towards his right ear, "Do."

Shivers ran up and down Chandler's spine. This had to be some joke. He had no idea why this sexy, mysterious woman was coming onto him, but had very little willpower to wonder why. Her hands were drifting down lower, and Chandler could hardly contain whatever rational thoughts the alcohol hadn't already greedily stolen from him. She removed her black coat, revealing that she was wearing a short, slinky, white dress that clung to every curve of her shapely body perfectly.

Chandler cleared his throat nervously. "Wh—Why are you doing this to me?" 

Monica studied him again. He didn't seem very confident for a man of his 'status'. _He's probably just testing me. Well, I'm gonna pass this test with flying colors! She_ gazed up at him with an innocent, flirtatious look and continued in a tone that matched her gaze. 

"Because this is what it takes to get on your good side, is it not?"

"My good—" 

He stopped talking when Monica reached down into his pants. Instead, he began to moan instinctively. Nothing of rational value mattered to him anymore. It wasn't important that the room was spinning or that his vision was blurred. All that mattered was what this mystery woman was doing to him and the waves of pleasure pulsating throughout his body. Losing sight of the fact that he had no idea who she was or why she was doing this to a stranger, he allowed himself to get lost in the moment.  Chandler reached for her hands and pulled them up. He moved in closer and kissed her deeply on the mouth. 

For a moment, Monica wondered why someone like Joey would want the sex to be so intimate, but that thought left her mind once his hands drifted down the top of her dress, and began gently massaging her breasts. Her heart was pounding wildly as his hands roamed her chest. 

In her eyes, she had been a relatively moral person in the past. She had been a girl scout, and the girl that greeted all the neighbors as she passed them on their porches on the warm summer nights. But now…what she was doing was not only immoral but also illegal. That thought not only caused her to tremble in fear, but also to quiver with excitement. She was living life on the wild side for the first time ever! Monica decided that she wouldn't allow her logical thoughts to cloud her brain for once. She was going to be spontaneous, reckless, out of control.

Suddenly, she stepped backwards a few steps and Chandler looked up, alarmed. She smiled teasingly at him and began to slowly strip. As he watched her remove her clothing, his rational thoughts returned to him once more. _Chandler, what are you doing?! You don't even know this woman! For all you know she could be diseased or insane or a murderer or…really sexy… _Chandler stared at Monica's naked body hungrily. Once she had stripped, the alarms of protest in his head had shut off. In place of them, desire took total control of his senses and thoughts, sending him into a daze. 

Soon, Chandler removed his own clothes and, almost immediately after, Monica found herself caught in another deep embrace. He then grabbed her hand and led her into his bedroom. The second they were inside Chandler's bedroom, Monica pushed him down on the bed, jumped on top of him, and straddled him. 

"Fuck me, Joey," she panted.

_Joey? _Chandler questioned in his head. Still, he was too far over to panic or tell her she had the wrong guy. Instead, he began to kiss her once more, her tongue against his allowing him to forget the case of mistaken identity. She kissed down his chest and stopped at his hips. Chandler felt her moist breath and was sent into temporary heaven. As Monica continued, fear once again was instilled in her brain. She had to be good. No, no, she had to be _great. _Joey was a busy man. He could find plenty of women willing to fuck him twice as well as she could. 

Her mouth left him causing his eyes to snap open in protest. She took in a shaky breath and kissed him passionately again, all the while praying that he would forgive her for stopping in the middle. She broke the kiss and he began licking her breasts as she stroked him once more. Monica couldn't help the soft moans that escaped her lips. 

Suddenly, Monica's voice cut through the moaning in a whisper. "Do you have a condom?" 

His hand roamed his night table momentarily and he grabbed the small package and gave it to her. She rolled it onto him and looked down. Her mouth went dry. This was it. She prayed that she would do well enough as she lowered herself onto him. 

Once they recovered from sexual ecstasy, Monica climbed off Chandler and laid down next to him. He turned to face her, and she began playing with the light brown hairs on his chest. She couldn't look him in the face. It was too degrading. She hadn't wanted to stoop so low. To sleep with men for a living was the most embarrassing thing she had ever done. Still, she knew she had to do it. There was no alternative. Besides, it would only be temporary. Soon, she would be able to find a real job. A job that she wasn't ashamed of or that required her to be naked. 

_Who am I kidding? I haven't even finished college! This is going to be my life! _

A wave of sorrow washed over her at that revelation, but she quickly brushed it away. She had to be strong now. She was with the man that could easily either make or break her life. She took a deep breath and looked at him. He was lightly caressing her arm, seemingly deep in thought. Looking at him, she was reminded of an earlier question of hers. Why was a pimp being so gentle with her? She couldn't understand. The sex had actually been enjoyable for her. As much as she had tried to be indifferent, he had succeeded to stimulate her in all the right places. 

From what she had heard about Joey, she thought he was completely selfish and stone cold. Yet, when she looked up at him, she felt a warm, fuzzy feeling stir within her. She mentally slapped herself at that. 

_He's a pimp! He probably had sex with like ten other girls today. You're not someone special, you're not!_ At that realization, she sighed aloud, causing Chandler to turn towards her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Oh…well…o..k." 

Chandler was feeling particularly nervous now. This woman thought he was Joey! How could he have allowed himself to go so far with her? He should've told her and stopped it before it got that far out of hand. It wasn't as if he could pretend to be Joey forever. Sooner or later, she would found out he was really Chandler, the worthless roommate. Joey was the one with all the money, the great, mysterious job, and sexy women. Those women who were as beautiful and sensual as the one lying next to him. And who did he get? The ones with annoying laughs and whiny voices or, even worse, no women at all!

 He looked over at Monica, who seemed to be concentrating very hard on something as she absently played with his chest hairs. 

_Should I tell her? _ one voice in Chandler's head wondered. The other, more rational voice replied, _Yes, you should tell her! How could you do this to an innocent, unsuspecting woman?! You **used** her!_

Guilt engulfed Chandler as his eyes wandered up and down Monica's naked form. Sure, she was stunning, but that was all he knew about this woman. He didn't know how she knew of Joey (not that she knew him well, obviously), how old she was, where she lived, or even her _first name._ However, Monica climbed back on top of his lap, cutting his thoughts short. She leaned forward, allowing her forehead to lean against his. 

"So?" she asked in a sultry tone, "Do I have the job?"

"J—Job?"

"Yeah, you know," she stuck her hand under the sheets and grabbed him, "Job." 

"Uhhh…"

"I—I don't…have it?" she panicked. 

"No, I—"

"Joey, come on! I—I need this! I—have to support my br—"

"What's your name?"

She gave him a baffled look. "Monica. Phoebe told you about me, didn't she?" 

"Phoebe?" Chandler wondered, "Anyway, Monica…the thing is…I…"

"What?"

"I'm not Joey."

She stared at him blankly for a few moments. "Wha—wha—what?!" 

"I'm his roommate, Chandler." 

Monica's eyes widened in shock. The man she had slept with wasn't Joey?! She had been used and betrayed! Suddenly, anger replaced her alarm, and she slapped Chandler hard across the face. 

"You bastard!" 

She ran out into the living room and began hastily collecting and throwing on her clothing.

"I'm sorry…"

"Sure ya are. You got free sex!"

"No, it's not like that!"

Monica gave a sardonic laugh. "_Not_ like that?!" 

"Look, I'm sorry! I—what do you want from me? Money?"

She finished adjusting her clothing and shot him a disgusted look. "I don't need anything from someone like _you_." 

With that, she stormed out the door and slammed it in his face. Chandler, on the other hand, stood there for a moment, holding his swollen cheek. Then, he hit the side of his head with his hand. "You idiot!" 

A/N: Seriously, llew, were u STEALING OUR BRAINWAVES OR SOMETHING?! Lol, I can't believe you guessed how this chapter would turn out! Ok, so it's not rocket science, but still… you deserve a gold star;) All right, my non-fury, non-flea infested friends, please leave us a review and help this story move along. Thanks! 


	3. Chapter 3

**What's Love Got To Do With It? **– chapter 3****

A/N: And, we're back! Yay! I'm (Becca) home now.:-) I miss the city, though - go figure. Well, I'm not gonna make a long a/n about myself and how I've annoyed Yen day in and day out with pictures and quotes of songs from the musical Rent, but it rocks! You should all see it! *notices Yen glaring at her* heh, ok, I'm done. Please read and review, thanks!

**Disclaimer: **"No, Yen, no matter what you think, we **_don't_**own them!" (*smiles sweetly* Yen doesn't know I wrote this. Hehe, Yen, I love u! :p) 

A few minutes had passed, and Chandler sat on one of the barcaloungers, staring at the off television in a daze. Despite his terrible headache and the ground that was spinning around him, he attempted to fathom what had just occurred. How could he have allowed himself to have sex with some random woman? It was as if he had completely lost the reasonable side of his brain, leaving him with only uncharacteristic impulses. 

But still, as he let his eyes drift shut lightly, he pictured the face of that raven-haired woman and couldn't help but smile. Something about her beauty, accompanied by visible determination within her soft blue eyes kept Chandler longing to see her once again. However, he realized sadly that he didn't even know why this mysterious woman had showed up at his doorstep. More importantly, why had she wanted to sleep with Joey if she didn't even know what he looked like. 

_His reputation must be enough, _Chandler thought bitterly. 

Time after time, Chandler found himself jealous of his handsome, successful roommate. And now, he couldn't suppress the envy from building up within him. That Monica woman had wanted to sleep with _Joey_, not him! Of course, it didn't matter now, anyway. Chandler had ruined any chance of ever seeing that woman again. He had allowed her to be misled so that he could get laid. 

_I'm gonna rot in hell. _

The doorknob turned and a cheerful whistle became audible from outside of the apartment as Joey strolled in, both arms held by a different woman. 

"Ladies," he continued in a sultry voice, "The bedroom is right in—Chandler?"

Chandler rose from the leather barkalonger in the middle of their living room and stared at Joey, accusation burning in his eyes. 

"What are you doing home now? I thought you worked till midnight on Tuesdays."

"Normally I do," Chandler answered distractedly, eyes still locked on Joey, "But it's kinda hard to keep someone at work when they leave early."

"Oh."

Joey fell silent while he watched Chandler curiously. How much did Chandler know about his whereabouts anyway? Although Chandler rarely mentioned it, Joey figured he had to be at least somewhat curious. One of the women cleared her throat, reminding Joey that they were, in fact, still there. 

"Ladies, why don't I meet you in my bedroom?" 

Chandler's eyes finally left Joey as he turned to watch the two women retreat into Joey's bedroom. They were both wearing short, black skirts with sequent halter-tops and black, fishnet stockings. Their makeup was thick and both had hair cut to the bottom of their necks, although one was an obviously fake blonde while the other a fake redhead. Chandler idly wondered where those women were from and why they were willing to share one man between the two of them. However, all thoughts of that were lost when he looked up, once again noticing Joey, who, at the moment, was shuffling uncomfortably in his spot. 

"Joe," Chandler began confidently, "Were you…expecting company…earlier this evening?"

Joey's eyes widened in shock. Although he wasn't sure whom it was Chandler was referring to, he knew it was someone that had made Chandler suspicious. 

"I might've been. Who'd you see?"

"A woman."

"Oh? Did she ask for me?"

"No, she didn't ask for you, that's why I thought you were expecting her." Off Joey's confused look, Chandler clarified, "I was joking."

"Oh, ok. Ha, that was a funny one," Joey lied nervously.

Chandler rolled his eyes. "So, who was the woman?"

"I...don't know."

"How do you not know?!"

"I meet a lot of people in my life. It's hard to keep track. Did she give you a name?" 

"Monica…something…"

Joey scrunched his forehead as he racked his brain to remember. Suddenly, his eyes widened once again as he recalled who she was.

"Uh…well…uh…what…did she say?"

"A lot."

"Oh?"

Chandler nodded. 

"What kind of stuff did she tell you exactly?"

"I'm not…sure…exactly. But…umm…she was quite the friendly one."

"Friendly?"

"Yeah. Like," Chandler moved in close to Joey, "_sex_ friendly."

Joey swallowed hard. "Really?"

"Yeah," he began to pace the living room, "And she also thought that I was you."

Joey laughed nervously. "That's an easy mistake…"

"Okay, umm…why?"

"Well, I mean we're both men and we both have, uh…short hair, although yours is lighter and—"

"No. Why did she try to seduce me…thinking I was you, of course?"

Joey shrugged. "She's a sex addict." 

"Joey!"

"She's a hooker."

Chandler took in a deep, shocked breath. He hadn't quite been expecting that answer, although it did explain her peculiar behavior, somewhat. 

"That's illegal!"

"Shhh," Joey hissed and pointed to his bedroom, "Don't let them hear you!"

"Are they hookers, too?!"

"Umm…"

"Oh my God, Joey, what the hell?!"

"I know, it's just—"

"Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"What _do _you do for a living?" 

"Well, I'm an actor."

"That's bullshit."

"I am an actor…by day."

'But by night…?"

"Well, how do I explain this?" Joey pointed to the bedroom once more. "They're mine."

"You're a pimp," Chandler stated monotonously.

Joey shrugged anxiously. 

"I can't believe it. You think you know a guy…"

"Well, in my defense, you never came out and asked what it was I did at night."

"I never thought it was this! This is insane!" 

"Chandler, it pays the bills…"

"And it's illegal!" 

Joey looked down at his feet shamefully.

"You have to stop. Now!"

"No! This is the greatest job I've ever had! I'm actually doing something with my life!" 

"Helping men get laid?!"

"Well, yeah," he smiled and winked at Chandler, "I could hook you up."

"No," he answered hastily, "I got plenty of that before."

This time it was Joey's turn to be suspicious. 

"What?" 

"I…uhh…"

"Did you _sleep_ with Monica?"

"I…might have," Joey was about to speak, when Chandler cut him off, "But I was _really _drunk! I still am! I didn't know what I was doing!"

"You didn't know what you were doing?!" Joey screamed, "Then how'd you get it in there?!"

Chandler moved over to the kitchen counter and bent over it shamefully. 

"She's new, ya know? I never actually hired her yet."

"Oh God." 

Chandler slammed his hands on the counter woefully a few times. Suddenly, the guilt he had been experiencing tripled. She was young, inexperienced, and now had been used. How could he have done that to an obviously already troubled woman?

"Chandler?"

"What?" he mumbled from his place at the counter. 

"You owe me $500." 

Chandler lifted his head and shot Joey a deathly angry glare.

"But we can deal with that later…" 

Monica pulled her long, black coat closer to her body as she moved hastily through the painfully plain white hallway. She passed a few scattered nurses in white and pink scrubs, but, otherwise, it was vacant. Most of the people there were asleep by now. 

"Miss," a high-pitched voice called from behind, "Visiting hours are over."

However, Monica ignored the warning. She was too lost within stronger feelings of anger and betrayal to even attempt to follow their rules. Instead, she picked up the pace as she studied the increasing room numbers on the wall to her left. Once she arrived at room #354, she stared at the light wooden door for a moment, as her hand grazed the cold, steel knob nervously. She then shut her eyes tightly and leaned her head against the door, attempting to fight off the wave of nausea that had overtaken her body. 

Monica had sold herself out to the highest bidder. She had agreed to use her body in the most intimate of ways as a means to gain money. She felt incredibly tainted.  Monica had done more shameful actions in just a few hours than she had in her entire lifetime prior to that day. 

Monica, the goody-two-shoes, the teachers' pet, had prostituted herself. That thought caused Monica to shudder in disgust. Then, of course, the first man who had the chance had taken advantage of her. Even though she had just barely begun her 'career', she had already been used! 

From that point on, she would be considered nothing but a body. A piece of clay to be molded by others in any way they desired. And, in turn, she would have to shut herself off from everybody. She was intelligent enough to know that in the world she was entering, nobody was your friend. You either looked out for yourself or you were robbed of everything you owned, both physically and emotionally. 

No, that one last shred of dignity that she held onto would not be relinquished. It didn't matter how sly and wicked their plot was to remove it - Monica would hold onto what she had left with all of her inner strength. Just like the reasons that led her to prostitution, she had something in her life to work for. 

However, she couldn't dwell on what that Joey-imposter had done to her. She should've been on the lookout for men like him. That world which she had entered was crawling with people just like him. 

After breaking free of her train of thought, she peaked through the narrow window in the door. She saw a lumpy form laying flat on the bed and heard the muffled sound of a television from inside. She took in a shaky breath and turned the doorknob slowly. Upon entering, the patient in the bed rustled around, turning off the television and offering Monica a weak smile. He was happy to see her. He was always happy to see her. Usually, his excitement upon seeing her made Monica feel good. However, today, it just served to feed guilt to her already aching heart. Monica straightened her coat, making sure it covered her outfit completely before she smiled back at the man in front of her.

"I was beginning to think you weren't gonna come today."

"I never miss a day. I just got held back a few hours 'cause of work."

The dark-haired man nodded, and Monica watched him nervously. What she had said, it was the truth. Just, not in the way he thought. 

"What kept you so busy?"

"Oh, there was an emergency at the restaurant. I had to stay late and make sure everything was okay."

"That's my sister," he joked, "Always the one to take hold of the situation."

"Yeah," Monica agreed absently. 

He stared at her for a few moments before speaking once again. "I'm sorry that you have to work so hard for me."

Monica moved in and stroked his arm gently. "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault."

"I know. But I still wish you didn't have to."

Monica smiled. "But that's life."

"I know." 

After a moment, Monica began, "I wish you weren't stuck in here."

"Me too."

"There are a lot of things we wish for, Ross. They just…don't always come true."

"So I've noticed." 

"But sometimes, you just have to work hard for them. Do _whatever _it takes. Am I right?"

"Yeah, of course."

Monica nodded. That was exactly what she was doing. There was no way that she would be able to keep Ross alive with only a small diner busgirl's paycheck and a rapidly depreciating inheritance from their deceased parents. As she stared into her brother's dark eyes, she saw a look of fear staring back at her. Even if he had too much pride to admit it, he was terrified of dying. She was terrified of him dying, too. She didn't think she would be able to handle losing the only loved one she had left. 

_No matter how shameful my job is_, she reminded herself, _I have to do it for my brother **and** for myself. _

A/N: Okay, that was the third chapter, heh, like u didn't know that, huh? To be continued soon. Please leave us a review.:) Maybe it'll be continued sooner then…is that a good enough bribe? You all want cars?! Ok, Yen'll buy 'em for u all. *runs away* 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hey, Yen here! Becca said I got to write this A/N and I said "Why?" And she said "Because I wrote the last two." And I said "Okay." It was the conversation of the century. Also, I had some fried chicken. How that pertains to this is beyond my realm of knowledge, but there you have it. Haha 'pertains' reminds me of something I said earlier. My dad said "Yennifer is being impertinent." (Okay, he didn't say Yennifer, he said Jennifer. But we like Yennifer better and it's our opinion that counts!) Anyways, I said, "Impertinent sounds like impotent." And then I laughed. *Shakes head* I am rambling SO much. 

Thank you all for the reviews! They were very kind. Please read and review this chapter as well! I'm trying to be proper to make up for that up there ^ (not working so well.) Arg stop it Yen stop it! The voices are taking over. 

Disclaimer: We don't own the characters. But we do own the monkeys and the llamas of the world. Cheers! 

"Harder," the man demanded through gritted teeth.

Monica pushed her body closer against the sweaty one below hers and she moved up and down at a steady pace. His course hair itched her skin as he grabbed a fist full of her hair and pushed her down to meet his lips in a greedy kiss. Monica allowed his tongue to roam her mouth as she concentrated. She heard the man grunt as he bucked his thighs forward and thrust into her one last time, and a throaty moan escaped from his mouth. Then, the man fell backwards, seemingly spent from doing an awfully small amount of work. Monica got off of him as he recovered and began to dress. She found a cigarette in her coat pocket, grabbed the lighter from the man's nightstand, and lit it carefully. She took a few puffs from it, and then turned to the man who was twisted within the covers. 

"How much do I owe ya, babe?"

"$400, you know that."

He flashed her a grin, his yellow teeth only slightly visible thanks to the light of the city street a few flights below the window. She looked away as the man rolled out of bed, still naked, and searched through his pants for his wallet. After fumbling for a few moments, he handed her the bills. Monica looked into his eyes for a moment, and then down at her hand. She counted the money carefully, and, after being sure it was the right amount, she collected threw on her coat and headed for the door.

"Hey babe?"

Monica paused and turned around slowly. "Yes?"

"Got a cig?" 

Monica looked at the box of cigarettes in her hand and then thrust them into her jacket pocket. She shot him a cold, disjointed look. Monica didn't give out anything more than she had to. 

"No." 

With that, she left the rundown apartment, and headed out into the cold evening air. 

Chandler sat in a dimly lit Italian restaurant with a frizzy, dark-haired woman across from him. She was telling him a story, but he couldn't concentrate on her whiny voice. Instead, he found his thoughts drifting back to Monica. Although he knew he was crazy for pining over a woman he had only seen once, three weeks ago, he couldn't help but imagine her face. Normally, the fact that this woman was a prostitute would've made Chandler stay away from her. However, there was something different about Monica. She didn't seem like the rest of the women Joey brought home. She had substance, he could tell just from one look into her passionate face. There was much more to her than just sex. He wished that he was able to discover those other parts of her.

"Chandler?"

"Hmm?"

"Were you listening to a single word I said?!"

"Yes, of course. You were talking about New Years pictures."

"No, I was talking about New Years pictures a half an hour ago! Where have you been, anyway?"

"I just have a lot on my mind."

She laughed and Chandler grimaced. There was something about this woman's laugh that made his skin crawl. 

"What were you thinking about, my Bing-a-ling?" 

"Nothing."

"Oh come on, you can tell me."

"No, Janice, it's nothing."

Chandler was beginning to get frustrated. Why was she insisting on knowing? He was sure she didn't want to hear the truth. _Oh hey Janice_, he thought in his head, _I'm thinking about this woman, who's a hooker, by the way, that I met once and slept with three weeks ago, yet can't stop thinking about! Yeah, that would go over well. _

"Come on, tell me. Let me in."

"Okay, okay, you want to know what I'm thinking?!" he paused, "I was thinking about those pictures you took on New Years Eve." Chandler feigned enthusiasm, "Did you really get a picture of the ball dropping?"

Janice laughed once again and continued talking. Chandler just stared at her blankly and mentally slapped himself for not breaking up with her when he had the chance. Oh well, he would just stop calling her. That was always the easiest way to go. After all, no woman was better than Janice. 

After walking for a few blocks, Monica turned into a dark alley. She knocked on the door with three, swift knocks and then waited for it to be opened for her. A big man in a suit looked her over and then smiled. 

"Welcome back."

Monica bit the inside of her mouth. "Yuh-huh." 

She pushed past him, attempting not to wince as the man slapped her ass. She should be used to it by now. She was constantly treated as a sex object, and, unfortunately, she understood exactly why. _It shouldn't still bother me,_ she thought woefully as she pushed past the crowds of people and met up with Rachel and Phoebe. They were completely confident with themselves and the way they were treated. Men didn't take advantage of them as often because they showed the experience and confidence that Monica longed to possess.

"Give it time," Rachel replied, after Monica explained her troubles, "We all start out exactly where you do."

"Yeah," Phoebe agreed, "It's hard at first, sure. But you'll learn all the tricks of the trade. Soon enough, you'll be the one taking advantage of the guys."

"Really?"

"Sure!"

"Yeah, for instance," Rachel took out a gold lighter from her pocket book, "Swiped this baby off some dead beat drunk that I fucked today." 

Rachel showed off the lighter as Phoebe congratulated Rachel for her great choice of possessions to steal. Monica, however, tried to picture herself stealing something. She thought back to that afternoon when she had picked up her client's lighter. He wasn't watching her. She could've swiped it just like Rachel had. Still, Monica felt too dishonest for doing that. After all, it could have sentimental value to him or something. Just because he was a deadbeat didn't mean he didn't have sentiment, too. After all, most people would look at Monica and think she didn't cherish anything in her life. 

"Hey, Mon, don't worry about it," Rachel continued, "Soon enough, you'll be a pro. Guys'll be begging to have you."

"Yeah?" Monica wondered, not too enthused by that idea.

"Yeah," Phoebe agreed absently as she took a drag of her pot. 

Monica looked around at the people surrounding her. There were people passed out everywhere, and others having sex right in the middle of the room. It was disgusting, degrading, and immoral. Yet, it was her life. 

Chandler laid awake, staring at the bleak, white ceiling above him. It was 3 am, yet he couldn't sleep. Ever since he began thinking about Monica at dinner, he couldn't get her out of his head. Sure, he had thought about her a lot during the weeks, but, at that moment, it was painful. He just had to see her again, somehow or another. Sure, maybe he was being pathetic and much too hopeful, but he could see himself with Monica. His thoughts were cut off when he heard Joey stagger across the living room. Chandler sat up and listened to the bustle outside of his room. He heard the bathroom door close and then he snuck out of his room and sat down in the dark on one of the green stools at their counter. He waited for Joey to emerge, and then, as Joey headed back to his bedroom, Chandler cleared his throat. Joey jumped and turned around fearfully. Upon realizing it was Chandler, he let out a heavy sigh and put his hand over his chest.

__

"Jesus, you scared the shit outta me, Chandler!"

"Sorry."

"What are you doing out here in the dark…at 3 am?"

"Waiting for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what can I do for you?"

"You remember that woman I…uhh…met?"

"Which woman?"

"Monica."

"Ohh, her. Yeah?"

"Did you hire her?"

"Yeah. Just cause I felt guilty since you fucked with her." 

Chandler stood up and ran his hands over the back of one of the barcaloungers stiffly. 

"Have you…ya know…with her?"

"If you mean sex then no, I haven't."

"Oh, okay."

"But others have."

Chandler bit his lip and looked away. "I figured."

"Why?"

"No reason."

"Right…"

"I was just wondering. I feel so horrible for what I did."

"You should."

"You don't really have a right to talk, do you?" Chandler shot back.

"Nah, you're right."

"She's okay, right? I mean I didn't…screw her up…"

"She's pretty good for a beginner. Made a nice amount of money."

"Oh. Oh okay."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Joey yawned and headed for his room, "Well…if you're sure..."

"What do you know about Monica?" Chandler called hastily.

"What do you mean 'what do I know about Monica'?"

"I mean do you know how old she is, where she lives, anything?"

"Uhh…no."

"Oh."

"Oh!" Joey's eyes brightened, "She works at some 50's diner during the day, in Chelsea."

"Moondance Diner?"

"Yes!"

Chandler smiled inwardly.

"Why'd you wanna know?"

"Just…curious…"

"Okay… I'm gonna go to sleep. You should get some sleep, too. You're beginning to worry me."

"Yeah, okay, sure. Thanks."

"No prob, buddy."

Joey patted Chandler on the shoulder and then moved towards his bedroom. After Chandler watched Joey retreat into his bedroom and shut the door, Chandler began to smile. Then, he began to dance slightly back to his room. Maybe he could see Monica after all. Sure, he didn't know what he'd say, but he'd work on that. The only thing that mattered to him now was that he had a lead! 

A/N: Well, we hope you liked this chapter! I'll see yall when I get back from Cancun, babie! E-mail us (after you review, of course.) Our e-mail address is yenbec_perry@yahoo.com! *Hugs all readers and Becca who is the bestest monkey buddy in the world!* Love ya!

*Yen*


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello.

That was the extent of Becca's brilliant comments. Ah well, I'll write the rest of this a/n. I am back from Cancun and tanner than ever! :) Ok, show of hands, who's ready to go back to school and get away from their overbearing, aggravating parents??? *raises hand enthusiastically* Wish me luck in high school! And wish Becca luck in 11th grade, you big ole' upperclassman! 

Joolz - lol! We're so glad about the monkey obsession!!!! Monnie Geller - Thank you for saying the impotent thing made your night/morning. Your reviews made MY day! The thing about Janice... you misread it... he meant that being ALONE was better than being with Janice, which makes a helluva lot more sense. I said your name! 

And yes, it's DEFINITELY too racy to be PG-13, but we wanted it on the main page. Sue us, will you? Then you'll get everything we have - two buttons and a pin that says "Your Mom." We're quite the Spartans. (Yeah, history class.)

Oh, thanks for reviewing, yall. Makes our day. Or night, whenever we read it.

Bec, was the a/n crazy enough? No? What if I yelled SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICESPYALIDOSHIS right here? Still no? Oh well. You might not even be reading this. *Whispers* Bec's busy dreaming about Jack Geller. Apparently he's quite the stud. Or something. I can't see past the sun-dried tomatoes obsession.

Disclaimer: I'm not sure what Becca owns, but I own five very large school books, a sucky locker, and a class schedule that makes me cross the school five trillion times. You'd think I'd be less excited. I'm not. 

  


CHAPTER FIVE

Chandler stepped into the sparkling clean yet tiny diner, looking around fervently. He was hoping to see Monica before she saw him. He chuckled as a man dressed poorly but unmistakably as Elvis Presley stepped out from behind the counter. 

"One?" he asked Chandler, grabbing a menu.

"Yeah," Chandler said. Elvis led him to a small booth in the back. 

"Frenchie will be with you in a moment," Elvis said as Chandler sat down.

"Frenchie?" Chandler said bemusedly. Elvis only smiled and walked away. Chandler looked around the diner. Posters featuring old movies, black-and-white Coca-cola advertisements, and cheap, broken-looking records lined the walls just above the strip of shiny chrome that made the place look like the outside of a trailer home. A small jukebox sat on every table next to a straw dispenser. People dressed as notable fifties characters walked around carrying trays of greasy fries and cheeseburgers. 

"What can I get for you today?"

Chandler looked up and blinked. A woman with auburn-red hair, wearing black pedal-pushers, a pink suede jacket, and dark sunglasses was staring down at him with a pad of paper in hand. Chandler smiled.

"Perhaps a time portal back to the 90's?" he said. Frenchie gave him a grim smile that plainly told him, _One more crack and I'll be spitting in your burger_. "Or, my most _favorite_ Pink Lady, just a Coke."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, actually, I have a question," Chandler blurted out. "Does a woman named Monica work here? Dark hair, violet eyes, _great_ body?"

"I don't know about the body, but yeah, that'd be Monica Geller."

"Is she here right now?"

"I think she's on break in the back," Frenchie said.

"Okay, thanks," Chandler said. Frenchie left, and he looked down at his menu unseeingly.

_What to do, what to do,_ he thought. He'd been so fixated on just getting himself to the diner that he hadn't even thought of what he was going to do once he got there.

Again, _Hi, I'm the guy you slept with under false pretenses a few weeks ago _didn't seem quite appropriate. Could he just go in and introduce himself to her? Would she even recognize him? Maybe she wouldn't even know him from the dozen other men she'd fucked since that night. And their night of passion definitely - _definitely_ - meant much less to her than it had to him. She'd _slapped_ him as she'd left in a furor - surely she hated him for tricking her, even if he _had_ been drunk and stupid. 

Chandler suddenly cringed, realizing how stupid he'd been to come here, to her place of work, in an effort to... what, try and _woo_ her? A _prostitute?_ Shaking his head at his idiocy, he put a few dollars down on the table for the Coke and hurried out of the diner. He was halfway around the corner when he noticed someone standing against the wall in the back. He stopped and looked.

It was her. She was wearing a poodle skirt and a pink shirt, which was stuffed with undoubtedly fake breasts - he would know. She was holding a blond wig in her hand, and her dark hair was twisted into a bun. She was just leaning against the wall, looking at the sky, her perfect pouty mouth twisted into a mournful frown. 

Chandler watched Monica for a minute in complete shock. He realized he was off-balance and stoop a step forward, crunching on some fallen leaves. Monica jumped and turned to look at him, her jaw dropping in disbelief as she recognized him.

"Monica," he murmured. "Hi."

She didn't reply her bright eyes widening in recognition and then narrowing. 

"Look, I just wanted to - to come and - "

"I have to go," she mumbled, turned and running through the open back door, into the restaurant. 

"Monica! Wait! Wait, please!" he called desperately, but she was gone, the door closing behind her. Chandler kicked a small rock. "Dammit. Dammit, dammit."

He'd lost her again.

Monica put her hand out to steady herself against the wall of the diner. She was breathing heavily, receiving strange looks from the cook getting hamburger buns from the closet next to her. She didn't care - she was much too shook up.

_How_ could he have been there? Standing there, 10 feet away, right in front of her... _watching_ her, just as she thought of him. The nerve he had to show up here, looking all cute and brooding, while she was dressed like some kind of fifty's Barbie doll and close to tears over her miserable life! Why did she have to be stuck on him? She'd slept with God knows how many men since that first night - but somehow, he was special. 

_Jesus, Monica, get him out of your head! _she thought. _You'll never make it if your hung up on some random roommate. Remember what Rachel told you - there's no feelings involved. It's just physical..._

Then why do I feel like my heart's broken?

Sighing, Monica entered her apartment, a stack of mail clutched in her hand. Putting her purse down, she thumbed through the envelopes.

_Junk, junk... and the bills,_ she thought resignedly. _Utilities - final warning. Credit card maxed out. Reposession next step._ She rubbed her fist into her eyeballs. 

And here were the doctor's bills. Hundreds, thousands of dollars not covered by their crappy HMO had piled up since the inheritance had trickled down to nothing and Ross had become sicker and sicker. 

But as Monica looked at these bills, she felt slightly triumphant. She reached into her coat pocked and pulled out another envelope. This one did not contain a bill, but $3000 in cash, her earnings from the past three weeks. Monica sat at the used kitchen table, paying off the most urgent bills and leaving the rest in a stack in the cabinet, out of sight if Ross were to come home. 

She yawned and fell down onto the bed in Ross's room. She really wanted to go see Ross tonight - God, she did - but she'd feel so much better if she just lie down for just moment, just rested her eyes, she'd just take a quick nap....

Monica's eyes snapped open. She sat up, looking around, feeling disoriented. Something loud had woken her up. _What the - _

"Monica! Monica!"

Monica squinted in the darkness. 

"Ross?"

"Get up, Monica, hurry!"

"Ross, what's going on?"

Monica jumped out of bed and opened the door and was hit with a wave of stifling heat. Her brother, dressed in boxer shorts and a tee-shirt, was standing there, looking terrified.

"Monica, the house is on fire, we've got to get out - " Ross said, grabbing Monica's arm.

"Ross, wait, where are Mom and Dad? Where are Mom and Dad?"

"They're probably outside, come on, come on!" Ross shouted, pulling her through the smoke filled hallway. 

As they started to go down the stairs, the smoke thickened. Monica doubled over, coughing, unable to breathe. The smoke filled her eyes, making them water, and the heat was now so intense that she felt like it was suffocating her.

"Monica, come on!" Ross yelled. Fighting against the pain in her chest, Monica stumbled down the stairs, clutching Ross's arm. As they passed the kitchen, Monica felt as though _she_ was on fire. Flames leapt from the floor, the ceiling, everywhere, filling her eyes and her ears - she couldn't breathe or see or speak - she began to scream as the fire crept closer to her. She fell to her knees, coughing again, realizing she was going to die here on the floor in the hallway as her house burnt down around her. 

A pair of strong arms grabbed her under her shoulders and began to drag her away. The door swung open and then - they were out. The cool air hit Monica's face like ice. 

"Gotta move away from the house," Ross said between coughs. Monica stood up and together they ran, away from the house. Ross stood her on her feet, leaning over and hacking himself. Her legs felt like Jell-O as she fell to all fours, gagging.

She turned back to the house, the heat on her face again, the extreme, deadly heat, the fire devouring the house. "Where are Mom and Dad?" she asked Ross.

Ross's eye's widened. "Where are Mom and Dad?" she repeated hysterically. 

"Oh - oh God, Monica, oh God, oh God," Ross said, covering his face with his hands.

"Mom!" Monica screamed. She stood up and ran at the house. "Daddy!"

But this time several hands caught her - horrified-looking neighbors wrapped in housecoats with slippers on their feet, holding her and hushing her, telling her everything would be all right. Monica screamed and kicked and sobbed like a child as the house she'd grown up in fell in upon itself, burning up into nothing. And as she was dragged away, she swore she could hear a terrible scream coming from within the house, screaming and screaming and screaming...

Monica screamed. She sat up in bed, twisted in her sheets, sweating profusely and sobbing. It took her several moments in which she looked around the room, sure it was going to go up in flames at any moment, before she realized it had been a nightmare.

_Just a nightmare, _she reassured herself. _It's over. It's just a nightmare._ She sat in the silence, shaking and crying, until her tears dried up.

Three years. It had been close to three years since the fire, and still she woke up screaming about it almost every night. She could feel the flames on her face, taste the smoke, hear the screams. Could see her parent's faces. The Geller's had been found underneath the rubble of the second floor, just feet from the door, their hands intertwined. They had been so close to getting out.

Bad electrical wiring. That's was the fire department blamed it on. Bad electrical wiring in the kitchen had started the fire that had ended Monica's life as she'd known it. She had been only seventeen - she was young and fresh out of high school, about to go off to college just two weeks later. 

She never did. She stayed behind with Ross, who was only in the early stages of the leukemia then. They lived off the inheritance for a while, with various relatives and neighbors. But both hated this life and yearned to be out on their own. Once Monica turned 18, she moved them out into the city, where they had struggled to lead a life for the past year and a half.

_That_ was why she did the things she did. _That_ was why Monica sold herself to men, something she detested so much she couldn't even stand to think about it. And _that_ was why she couldn't have a relationship with a man, no matter how much she wanted it. She had to take care of her brother, to keep them alive. 

_You don't always get everything you want, Monica,_ she heard her mother say in her head.

"Believe me, Mom," Monica whispered. "I know."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Ok, amusing story time. I was showering this morning, and I took my squishy shower thingamaboger (dunno what they're called) and I put my shampoo on it. As I was squeezing my shampoo bottle, I realized, "This isn't shampoo!" so I washed it off and put soap on, instead. Ok, so that story was a hell of a lot funnier when I had been awake for only 5 minutes, but _that's ok! _Oh, btw, this is Becca telling the story. It should be fairly obvious because Yen uses bigger words than me in her a/n's.;) Deeewd alert, Yen! Um, that really had no reason to be said except because I wanted to. Anyway, here's the next chapter! We don't really have anything to say about it, so I'm just gonna shut up. Thanks for all the great reviews last chapter. Please read and review this chapter, thanks!:)

CHAPTER 6

Chandler woke up the next morning feeling determined. He would not go to bed tonight feeling as he had the night before - like a failure. He would not sleep knowing that Monica was out there and he was here alone. He would find her, he would talk to her, and he would ask her out. 

He went to the diner where she worked, went inside, and sat down, this time ordering breakfast from a guy with dark jeans, a faux-leather jacket, and greased hair that made him look way too much like John Travolta on crack. Chandler kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Monica's dark ebony hair or felt poodle skirt, praying he saw her before she saw him and had the chance to run away.

Because today, he would talk to her.

And then, suddenly, there she was. Standing behind the counter, pushing her blond wig back from her face, one fake boob higher then the other, with dirty plates in her hands and a tiny pencil clutched between her teeth. He had never seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

She came out from behind the counter and walked toward the table next to Chandler. He felt tongue-tied and stupid, and then finally called

out, "Monica!"

She stopped and looked at him. Her eyes widened and one of the plates slipped out of her hand, crashing to the floor.

"Oh, shit," she mumbled, dropping to the floor to pick up the shards of glass. When no one else who worked there came to help, Chandler knelt beside her to help.

"Thanks," she said, glancing up at him from under long, dark eyelashes. Chandler's breath caught in his throat as she smiled faintly.

"No problem," he said. "Listen, do you think we could, you know, talk, or walk or maybe both?" He searched deep into her violet eyes, showing her that he was kind.

Monica bit her lip. "I - I don't know."

"Monica, I just want to talk to you," he whispered. "Please, just give me five minutes."

Monica sighed, nodding twice.

"I get off in fifteen minutes," she said. 

"Okay. I guess I'll just - eat this breakfast - my breakfast, then,'' he said, looking at the food now sitting on the table, his mouth barely able to make words.

"Okay," Monica said. "Enjoy." With a half-smile, she walked away. Chandler fell into the booth, his heart pounding. This woman had some kind of effect on him that made him want to talk a lot but also seemed to remove the part of his brain that gave him intelligent speech. 

He ate his food without tasting it, watching, waiting always for Monica to appear from the kitchens, to bus a table near him or carry food from the counter. Finally, she walked up to him and said, "I just have to go change. I hate this outfit."

"I think it's adorable on you," Chandler said sincerely. Monica giggled and blushed, hurrying back to the kitchen area. Chandler blushed too, realizing that the little conversation they'd just had was the closest they'd come to flirting.

"Ready?" she said. Chandler jumped and looked around. The woman standing before him didn't look like any woman he'd ever seen before. The Monica he'd met as a prostitute was pale and gaunt, had been wearing trashy clothes, and had dry, brittle hair - but he'd thought she was beautiful. He'd even thought Fifties Monica, with her gaudy poodle skirt, cardigan, curly blond wig, and over-stuffed breasts was gorgeous.

But now - now, she was an angel. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, framing her porcelain face. Her worn-in jeans and blue sweater accentuated her natural curves. 

"You okay?" she asked, and Chandler realized he'd been staring.

"Yeah, sorry," he stammered. "So, uh, do you want to go for a walk?"

"Sure," Monica said. They left the restaurant and walked down the breezy street. 

"Okay, um - I know we didn't get off to the best start a few weeks ago. I don't usually sleep with girls who come to my apartment looking for Joey, but I was really drunk and horny and - okay, wow, this is so not going well," he muttered, putting his face in his hands.

"No, it's okay," Monica said with a laugh in her voice. 

"It's just that I don't - usually do this - "

"What, try to pick up a prostitute?"

"No, try to pick up a woman," Chandler admitted, slightly struck by how unabashed she was. "I suck at it, in fact."

"Don't worry about it," Monica said. "It's kinda cute."

"What, my discomfort?"

"No, your determination."

Chandler took a deep breath. "Okay, this is not going how I planned. Let's start over." He held out his hand. "Hi. Chandler Bing."

Monica grinned. "Monica Geller. So, Chandler Bing. Interesting name."

"I think I really hurt my mother during labor," Chandler joked. 

"That would make a lot of sense."

Monica stared at Chandler as they walked along. His eyes were light blue but seemed to pierce right into you. Monica had always been drawn to eyes and she had never seen ones quite so stunning as his. 

_What are you doing?_ she reprimanded herself. She couldn't think of him like that... fantasizing about a man's eyes, about lying in bed next to him and staring into them all night, it was utterly ridiculous. All she was doing was walking and talking. 

She'd been hoping that by talking to Chandler, her idea that he was a selfish, horrible, uncaring person would be reinforced. Unfortunately, none of those adjectives came to mind as she stared into Chandler's face.

But maybe he just hid it really well.

"Let's get some coffee," Chandler suggested, motioning to the coffeehouse they were standing outside of.

"Oh, um, I kind of don't have any money right now," Monica said.

"That's okay, I'll treat," Chandler said easily.

"I'd rather not," Monica said abruptly. "I don't like to owe anyone anything."

"Why not?" He looked surprised and doubtful. Monica felt a bubble of anger arise.

"If I've got anything, I've got my dignity," she snapped.

"Coulda fooled me," Chandler said, raising his eyebrows and averting his gaze disbelievingly. Monica realized that he was probably joking around, but she suddenly felt the urge to destroy whatever they had here.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Monica asked.

"Well, I wouldn't think someone like you would put much importance on having dignity," Chandler said with a condescending smile. 

If Monica had been the type of person who had moments of speechlessness, this would have been one of them. But she wasn't, and she didn't. Instead, she burst out, "Someone like_ me?_ You mean, a prostitute?" A mother walking by with a little boy gaped at her and hurried her son away, shooting Monica and Chandler disgusted glances. 

"Well, yeah, I mean, I guess," Chandler said a little quieter, seeminglu realizing he'd made a mistake. "I mean, it's not the most respectful of professions."

"And whatever you do is more respectful?" 

"It's a hell of a lot more dignified than screwing people for money," Chandler spat. "And at least it's _legal_." 

"Have you ever considered that there might be a _reason_ I do what I do?" Monica asked furiously. This was getting so blown out of proportion - she liked Chandler, she really did, but the fact that she thought all the things he was saying _every single day_ made it so much worse. 

"Well, no, not really - " Chandler muttered. 

Monica clenched her fists in an effort not to slap him. "Then I have something to tell you, Chandler," she said evenly. "I _tried_ to get a normal job. I worked at a deli downtown; I sold tokens at a subway station in Queens; I scrubbed the fucking toilets in Central Park for _less_ than minimum wage, but I got fired from every single job. I finally found a job at the diner that's _remotely_ connected to the field I plan to work in, but I think I'm going to be fired from that soon anyway. And I'll just have to go get another job, because that's what I have to do so my - so I can live. I don't have anybody to go home to, I don't have any money, nothing." Monica took a deep, shuddering breath, staring defiantly up at Chandler, who looked shell-shocked. Inside, Monica was shaking. She'd almost said it - she'd almost told him...

"I - I'm sorry, I didn't know - "

"Damn right you didn't know. You didn't know cause you didn't bother to learn a damned thing about me, only that I was a hooker, and hookers are whores who have no self-worth or meaning in life. I'm a _person_, Chandler," she said, shaking her head. "A person you'll never get to know."

And with that, she left him standing in the middle of the sidewalk. It wasn't until she had turned the corner and saw that he wasn't following her that she realized she wanted him to.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Buenos dias/tardes/noches! Como estas? Becca and I are both in Spanish 1-2 (crazy) and we're on a Spanish kick! But that doesn't mean you can leave a review in Spanish, cause neither of us can get past saying the days of the week, introducing ourselves and the like.

Anyway... sorry this took so long! School is nutso for both of us. High school... well. I look forward to the next four years *cough*not*cough*. Thanks for all the reviews! This chapter is kinda short but hopefully we will update faster this time. So review! 

Disclaimer: I own them. I own every character. I invented them. I invented chewing gum. I invented tube socks. I invented the Internet. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

"You're still thinkin' about her, aren't you?" 

Chandler looked up from his newspaper. Joey was standing there, his arms crossed. "What?"

"_Her_. Monica."

Chandler shook his head. "Of course not, why would you say something so crazy," he said without enthusiasm.

"Aw, I don't blame you. She's got a rockin body, that's for sure," Joey said, pouring himself some orange juice. "But you _are _still stuck on her. Be honest with me." Chandler glanced at him. His roommate may have kept a gigantic secret from him, lied about his lifestyle, and be involved in roughly 3 misdemeanors a night, but the guy was still his best friend and knew him better than anyone else.

"You want me to be honest? Okay, _honestly_, yes. Honestly I think the woman is amazing beautiful, and _honestly_ I am unbelievably pissed at myself for fucking everything up. To be quite _honest _with you, I can't blame her for leaving me on West tenth but I wish she hadn't because I don't know if I'm going to be able to function knowing she hates me. There. Aren't you glad I was so fucking _honest_, Joe?"

"Look, do you want me to talk to her?" Joey offered.

"I don't need you to set me up with one of your prostitutes, no thank you," Chandler said bitterly.

"Chandler, I know her better than you. She's a sweet girl, she's not really like the others. This isn't her kind of life. I can talk to her. If you want me to - "

"Joey, _no thank you,_" Chandler snapped. 

"Alright, then, do you want me to send up one of the other girls? I mean, I know you still owe me for when you slept with her before, but this one will be free of charge."

"That's very generous of you, but..." Chandler trailed off as an idea struck him. "So does that mean Monica's not, ah, busy tonight?"

"With a man?"

"No, with a fish stick," Chandler said rolling his eyes. "Yes, Joey, with a man."

Joey screwed up his eyes in concentration. "Nope, she didn't get anyone tonight and she doesn't go work the field yet."

"Interesting,'' Chandler said. "Very interesting."

Monica wearily entered her apartment to hear the phone ringing. She put her purse down and answered the phone, "Yeah?" _I've even lost my phone manners. If my mother could see me now..._ The thought made her heart clench up.

"Hi, Monica."

Monica bit her lip, wishing she could just hang up. "Hi, Joey." Her voice was tired, but without resistance.

"Can you work tonight? No one else is free..."

She sighed. "Joey, I don't know..."

"C'mon, baby. I'll pay you double, triple, even." 

Monica's eyes widened. "Triple? Really?"

"Really." 

"I've never heard you be so generous," Monica said.

"Well, the general opinion is that I'm feeling pretty generous today."

"Riiight," Monica said.

"Please, Mon?"

"All right. But you owe me quadruple."

Monica looked at the slip of paper in her hand, and then up at the crumbling old building in front of her. For a building that couldn't have been built later then the turn of the century, it was in pretty good shape. It was, however, the kind of place she would expect a man to go to meet up with a hooker, and she wondered just how many had come here before her. The thought made her shudder with repulsion and wrap her arms tightly around herself.

She stepped inside the lobby and hurried to the elevator, avoiding the eyes of the grimy man behind the desk who took in her short skirt and stilettos hungrily, whistling in appreciation. She rode to the seventh floor, got off, and walked down the hallway. "Room 708... 708..." She found the door to the room this "Joe Whitman" guy was in. Readying herself like she always did before a job, she knocked, waiting for the filth she would be with today to appear.

The door opened. "Look, before you get mad, just hear me out."

Monica's jaw dropped. _"Chandler?_" she gasped. "What - what the hell?" _Dammit,_ she cursed herself. She'd been duped, tricked into seeing Chandler again. And the worst part of it was, she didn't mind. 

"Monica, I wanted to say that I'm really, really sorry for what happened before. It was rude and insensitive - "

"Damn right," Monica muttered. She hardened herself. She couldn't be _glad_ to see Chandler. He was just a guy - a guy who, as a matter of fact, had tricked her into sleeping with him.

"And I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I am so sorry, and I know I don't deserve it, but could you consider giving me another chance?" His eyes were pleading, guilty, and above all, gorgeous.

"Look, I don't have time for this," she said, turning away before his eyes could suck her into their vast blueness. He grabbed her wrist. "Chandler, if I don't have a job here, I need to get home."

"Monica, please," Chandler begged. "I'm so sorry. I'll do anything to make it up to you. I've never met anyone like you. I've never been a go-getter and I probably never will be, but I know I'll hate myself forever if I let you get away."

"You know nothing about me," Monica said, turning to face him. "And I know nothing about you. We had sex one night a few weeks ago, and I thought you were the guy who was going to be my _pimp_. I mean, you were gentle and kind, but I didn't think we could recover from that kind of start. But you surprised me - you were so nice, I walked with you, we talked - and then you insulted me before you even knew me. I can't _trust_ someone who would do that."

"Can't I show you that you can trust me?" Chandler pleaded.

"No," Monica whispered. "You can't. _I _can't. I'm sorry." She turned and ran down the hallway. After a moment's stunned hesitation, he ran after her.

"Monica!" he yelled as her ran down the stairs behind her. "Monica!" He saw her dark hair and flashy purple skirt whirl around the banister. He chased her through the lobby, gaining momentum all the way. He finally caught up to her outside. He grabbed her wrist again and pulled her back towards him. 

"Monica," he gasped. "Please, please don't go.''

"Why not?" she asked, trying to sound defiant but coming across meek.

"Because I - I think I'm falling in love with you," he whispered. They both stopped breathing. She looked into his eyes, filled with such longing and desperation. 

"What's love got to do with it?" she said despairingly. She pulled away and scrambled down the street, eager to get away before her first tears fell.

__

What's love got to do 

Got to do with it

What's love but a secondhand emotion

What's love got to do

Got to do with it

Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken...

Becca: mi mascota favorito es snowball.

Don't ask. Really.

Leave a review! Gracias! 

*Yen*


	8. Chapter 8

**_What's Love Got to Do With It?_**

****

**_A/N: _**_Hey, remember this story? Well, Yen and I finally got around to writing a new chapter! It's been, what, five, six months? Um, oopsies. :p Blame it on Yen. It's all her fault. Actually, it's mine, but shh! We've been busy little bees. Well, I'd suggest reading over the previous chapters, if you don't remember what happened beforehand. Hell, I had to read over the chapters before writing more! Well, we hope there's still interest in this fanfic. Please leave us a review. Thanks! :)_

**_Disclaimer:  _**_These characters are mine, I swear! I even tried to sue the creators! Unfortunately, my lawyer didn't think I had a case. How could I not have a case?! I mean he **saw** the napkin! People today have no manners! _

CHAPTER 8

Chandler paced the length of his living room, every so often running his fingers through his hair. He was angry with himself and he was angry at his bad decisions. If he had not made such unbelievably poor decisions, he would not have been in this predicament in the first place. He closed his eyes, imagining what would have happened if he had never led Monica on. He could have asked her out and she could have said yes. He could have learned everything about her – not just her name, occupation, and where she worked. If he had not made such poor decisions, he could actually be holding her in his arms, and not imagining her in them, instead.

The door opened and, much to Chandler's surprise, Joey entered, alone. Chandler furrowed his brow. 

"What are you doing home…without any women? It's only eleven!"

"I know, but I was worried about you."

"What?"

"Yeah, well…worried that Monica kicked your ass for tricking her…again."

Chandler sighed, "Yeah, so maybe that wasn't such a good idea."

"Really? I'm so surprised. I mean, tricking a woman into meeting you, who, by the way, was already mad that you tricked her the first time the two of you met, was such a smart idea!" Quipped Joey.

"Yeah, yeah. I see your point."

Joey grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and sat down at the kitchen counter. "So, what happened?"

"I told her I was falling in love with her and she pretty much answered by saying love has nothing to do with anything."

"Harsh," he took a swig of his beer, "She's right, though, ya know?"

Chandler leaned on the counter beside Joey, "What?"

"You really think she's capable of loving a man? You think that, just because you said you love her, she could just forgive you and fall into your arms?"

"What?"

"See, what I've noticed about these women is that…they see men as just a means of income. I don't know, maybe they don't allow themselves to get feelings for a man, or maybe they're just are so disgusted by men that they can't…"

"Are you saying that Monica's a lesbian?"

"Monica's a lesbian?! Seriously?! Oh man, this is great, I have to promote her!"

"No, Joey! I'm asking if you think Monica's a lesbian."

"Oh, no. I didn't mean that. I don't know what I mean. Something about these women not loving anyone."

"That can't be true," Chandler began to pace, "I mean…when I told Monica that there was no way she could feel ashamed that she'd owe me money, considering what she does for a living, she told me that she had reasons she did it…"

"Yeah, the money. These women, most of them don't have much else to give to the world. And, if they do, they can't get a job for some reason or another. Usually criminal record."

"Does Monica have a criminal record?"

Joey shrugged, "Dunno, don't care. My only requirements are that they make me money, and they get the job done right."

"But Joey, these are women! They're people! How can you say these things about them?!"

"Chandler…you live in a world where everything is perfect. In the _real world, _not everyone is kind. Not everyone has the ability to feel love. Not everyone _wants _to feel love!"

"That's not true."

"Yeah? Then what are you fighting for?"

"I'm fighting _for _love," 

"No, you're fighting to make someone love you who can't."

"Look, Joey…maybe some of the people in your life are like that. Hell, most of the women might feel this way. But Monica's different. I _know _she's different. I can see it in her eyes. She has goals. She has dreams. Being your prostitute is just a way for her to one day achieve them."

Joey shrugged, "I just can't believe it."

"You only can't believe it because then you'd have to accept that what you're doing is _wrong_! No matter how much money you make, you're just helping these girls work themselves to their untimely deaths! What happens when a crazed man shoots one of them, after refusing to pay her, huh? What happens when one of them gets an STD?! You've created your own world where, in your eyes, people don't feel anything! A world where, since no one cares, nothing is ever wrong!"

"You're a fucking bastard!" Joey spat, before storming out the door.

Chandler sighed and plopped down in his barkalounger. It didn't matter whom he was talking to; he always said the wrong things.

Monica walked through the familiar white-walled corridor. She no longer had to look at the rising room numbers; she had Ross' room memorized. He had been in the hospital for much too long. From the looks of things, he was not going to be leaving for an even longer amount of time. She tried to imagine a world without Ross. What would she do? There would be no one left to love. Before the death of her parents, she had not felt a particularly strong connection to her brother. However, now, she focused all of her attention on him. There were no memories of Chandler's confession, the one that sent her reeling, within these walls. All that remained was unbridled hope for a better tomorrow.

Monica opened the door to Ross' room, and quietly slipped in. He was sleeping. She brushed his pale skin with her index finger, and removed a strand of stray, untidy dark hair from his face. Her heart fell sick at the sight of him. He looked so much weaker today than yesterday... 

Two weeks. This past hospital stay was supposed to last for two weeks. It had been six months. She refused to give up hope.

Monica sat down in a chair next to his bed and absently watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath. Eventually, sleep overtook her tired body. Her dreams ranged from her body burning, to hearing anguished screams in the distance, until she was on top of a fat man with crooked teeth. After a few restless hours, these visions became too much to handle. Her eyes snapped open, revealing a reality that was all the more bleak than her dreams.

The early morning sun shone through the blinds. Monica blinked a few times, trying to collect herself. She yawned and stretched, before looking towards Ross, who was staring at her with soft eyes. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he joked.

She stood up and rubbed her aching back, "Hey there."

"I'm glad you woke up. I was gonna havta throw my shoe at you soon."

She laughed, "You're not wearing any shoes."

"Oh right. Well, then it's especially good that you woke up, then."

"What time is it?"

"Six."

She groaned, "I'll have to leave in like fifteen minutes. I'm sorry, but I still need to go home and get dressed."

"It's okay," he paused, "Hey Mon, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," she joked, "But sure."

"What do you do for a living?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean are you really a busgirl?"

"Yeah, of course. Why?"

"Do you have any other jobs?"

"Yeah, I…I work at two…restaurants." 

"Mon, don't lie to me. You come in here later each night, smelling like pot and alcohol. You're barely wearing a skirt!" Monica looked down and realized that, while she was sleeping, the bottom buttons of her jacket came undone. She quickly re-buttoned them, "Please, just tell me the truth."

"You don't want to know the truth, Ross. Ignorance is bliss."

He shook his head, "It's too late for that."

Monica sat down on the bed beside Ross. Weakly, he reached up and grasped her hand. "I'm sorry, Ross," she whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

"I'm a prostitute – how can I not be sorry? I sleep with men for money. I'm disgusting. I don't even deserve to be in the same room as you."

"Monica," She ignored him and continued to sob, tears streaking her gaunt cheeks, "Monica please. I know you're doing this for me but –"

"I am! I really am! This is the only way I can make ends meet. I can pay for your bills! I don't _want _to do it, but it's the only way. No one else'll hire me."

"Mon, why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean? I'm doing this for you!"

"I know, but _why_? What's the point?" she stared at him blankly, so he continued, "I'm going to die, Monica. It doesn't matter how much money you pay for treatments. They'll only prolong it. My fate has been sealed. It's just not meant to be."

"No, Ross! That isn't true!"

"I've come to terms with it. Why can't you?"

"Because you're not going to die!"

"The doctors said it won't be long now…"

"No," she shook her head violently, "No, no, no!"

"There's no reason to keep selling yourself for me. You have been given the gift of time - time to live your life."

"No, no, so were you!"

"Why keep me alive if I'm just supposed to die?"

"But you're not! No, I won't let you."

"Monica, I'm going to die, no matter what. The longer you keep me alive, the longer we both suffer."

"No, no. You're not going to die."

"What's the point of keeping me alive?" he repeated.

Monica mouthed wordlessly for a few moments. She knew how stubborn Ross could be, but she was not finished. She would never be finished, until he quit talking as he was. 

"The point in keeping you alive is that you keep _me_ alive."

"No, Mon. Life keeps you alive. Go live it."

Monica shook her head more. "I have to go," she whispered.  
"I love you. Please turn your life around, while you still have the chance."

She stared at Ross, tears still flowing down her cheeks. He was crying, too. She continued to shake her head, even as she walked out of the room. 

**_A/N: _**_If you leave a nice review, maybe we'll consider updating in the next six months. ;) Thanks for reading! *hugs*___


	9. Chapter 9

**What's Love Got to Do With It? **

**_A/N: _**_Never thought you'd hear from us again, eh?Um, oops, we both kind of forgot about this fic again. Well, in our defense, we've been very busy lately – what with Becca's college search and Yen's…Orlando Bloom obsession – it's taken up a lot of our time! If there are any loyal readers still out there, well, we thank you for sticking with us through thick in thin. With that said, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are proud to present the 9th and final chapter of What's Love Got to Do With it? That was cheesy. ::gets hits with pies:: (And it wasn't the exact line, but it sounds better for joking purposes.)_

**_Disclaimer: _**_We own the world, mwahahaha! Just kidding, we own nothing. :p We also don't know the exact melting point for igneous rock, so if it offends you that we made up a temperature then, no offense, but get a life. ;)_

Chandler sat on the barkalounger in the living room, staring before him but not really seeing anything at all. How did everything get so complicated? He wished that he could make it all change back to how it had been before he had met Monica. Joey would not be mad at him, while Chandler, on the other hand, would not be disgusted by his friend's secret. Ignorance was now merely a dream that he could no longer grasp. Most of all, though, Chandler could transform back to the bumbling, pathetic fool that he had been before Monica; although ashamed of himself before, at least he had not been so utterly appalled and frustrated with himself.

Even though he wished to believe that Monica and Joey were the vile people, and he the respectable one, he was slowly realizing this to be completely untrue. He really had acted like a prick. Before, although he could identify this, it was hard to really accept it as the truth. But here he was, sitting at home with the desire to do nothing but wallow in self pity – the truth was staring him square in the eyes. He was alone because he had judged those he loved.

_Well, this is great_, he muttered as he sighed and laid back on the chair. Chandler had a sudden urge to go into his bedroom and fish out his comfortable sweatpants and NYU t-shirt, break open a carton of _Ben and Jerry's _ice cream and waste his life away. However, just as he began to rise from the chair, the front door opened. Chandler plopped back in his chair, unsure and slightly nervous of Joey's earlier anger.

Joey dropped his keys on the table next to the door and shed his jacket, laying it haphazardly on the foosball table. He shuffled around the kitchen for a few minutes, every now and then glancing up at Chandler, who was seemingly concentrating very deeply upon last week's_TV Guide. _

Finally, Joey left the kitchen and sat down in the barklalounger beside Chandler, beer in hand. He took a sip of the drink, before placing it on the floor beside him and raising the footrest of the chair. They each sat facing the wall, neither willing to look at the other for a time. Finally, Chandler, feeling fed up with himself and the silence that he had inadvertently caused, he sighed and turned to Joey.

"Look Joey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said the things I said to you. They weren't true, really."

Joey smiled wryly, "I know you're sorry, but I also know that you still think they're true," Chandler shook his head, "Come on, man, of course they're true! Look, I'm not saying that everything you said was true, but what you said about me –" Joey looked down sadly, "You hit the nail right on the head there. This is wrong – it's all wrong," he sighed, "I'd never thought about it before because, well, it worked for me. I'm not exactly the smartest guy in the world and I suck at acting, apparently - and well, there isn't much out there that could make me this kind of money. I know I'm being selfish."

"Hey, you know, I was being too harsh. I probably would've acted in the same way you did if given the chance. I mean when Monica came in here looking for sex, I – I, well," he swallowed with difficulty, "I gave it to her, didn't I?"

"That _is _true. But it's also not the point. The point is that you're right and I'm sorry. For everything. For lying to you, for never being there for you when you were always here for me, and most of all, I'm sorry for blowing you off when you were really upset. I know you love Monica. I believe you. It's still hard for me to accept, but I'm trying. I don't understand much about love, being that I've never been in love, but I do understand that there's more to it than I understand," Chandler raised his eyebrows curiously, "Well, that didn't make any sense, but yeah –" Joey looked down sheepishly.

"No, it did make sense. And it's true. You _can't _know what it feels like to be in love unless you really are. And I am, Joey. I really, truly am. It's like – it's like I live and breath Monica," he paused, "Now, I know that sounds more like I'm stalking her, but it's – it's different."

Joey laughed, "I'll take your word."

"Thanks. So, are we – are we good?"

"Almost. I just have one more thing to tell you."

"What's that?"

"Where to find Monica."

Chandler froze as he felt his mouth go suddenly dry, "What?" he croaked.

"I know where you could find her," Chandler did not react, so Joey continued, "I was talking to Rachel, who was the one who sent Monica to me, and well, this and that happened, and she kind of let it slip that Monica's brother's in Mt. Sinai Hospital. She visits him every night after work," Although Chandler sat wordlessly, Joey could tell he was processing this new information, "I don't know what floor or room or anything – this is the best I can do."

"You think – do you think – I should go – to her?"

"Yeah!"

"But won't she be mad and think I'm like – invading her privacy?"

"Well, try to convince her otherwise. As much as I can see, this is your last chance. She'll never willingly see you now that she admitted she feels something for you but doesn't want to act on it."

"I – I guess."

"Well, what are you waiting for? GO!"

Chandler stood up and paused nervously, "Do I look all right?"

"Does it really matter? You look fine. Now go!"

"Okay, okay," Chandler mumbled before running out the door without a backwards glance. 

-

Monica sat quietly in her brother's hospital room, staring blankly at the small television that Ross' eyes were fixated on. They were watching some _Discovery Channel_ show that Monica was not the least bit interested in, but Ross was completely oblivious to that fact.

"Look!" he pointed at the television, "Did you know that igneous rock melts at 189 degrees Fahrenheit?!"

"That's great Ross," she deadpanned.

As he once again lost himself in the documentary, Monica let her mind wander. She wasn't sure of how to think of her life anymore. Everything had become so utterly muddled up that she could no longer tell the different between truth and fiction. Was Ross really going to die? Did Chandler really love her? Was she really a prostitute? None of it mattered anyway. Her life was nothing but a series of endless confusion that she coped with only by denial.

It was past eleven o'clock now and Monica was dosing in her chair. Suddenly, a soft knock on the door caused her to jump up in alarm. She exchanged a confused look with Ross, knowing quite well that nurses rarely knocked on hospital doors, especially not when a patient may be asleep. Stretching as she rose, Monica headed toward the door and opened it. However, upon seeing Chandler on the other side of the door, Monica quickly closed it again.

"Who was that?"

"No one."

Monica made a move to head back to the chair, but Ross' questioning continued, "There's someone there – I can see him through the window!"

Monica sighed and stalked toward the door once again, flinging it opened with angry force.

"What do _you _want?" she spat.

"I want to come and tell you that I love you," she was about to speak but he cut her off, "Love has everything to do with it! Please, give me a chance to make things right."

She frowned, "How'd you know I was here?"

"Joey told me," he paused, "I'm so sorry about your brother."

Monica laughed bitterly, "You really are a bastard."

"Please Monica, I know I am, but –"

"You don't deserve a second chance."

"I know, but you could just – give me one anyway."

"And why should I?"

"Because I love you!" he paused, lowering his voice, "And no matter how much you deny it, I know you love me, too."

"Yeah right."

"Monica."

"No, please get out."

"But –"

"I said get out!"

Chandler sighed, "Fine. But before I go, let me tell you this. You feel alone in life, don't you? Your parents are no longer alive, your brother's sick and has little strength to worry about you, and your friends have to look out for themselves, just like you, so they can't be bothered helping you out. Monica, I might have been an idiot before, but not again. I would be there for you unconditionally."

"I would give you more love than you'd ever know what to do with. I would be there when the nightmares come, which I know they do," he dropped his eyes, "I can see it in your face – I can see the pain and suffering. You're too young to have to deal with this alone. Let me be there to kiss away your tears. I know you want to be independent. I won't take that away from you. But I also know that the longing to be loved and to love in return is eating away at you. I know this because it's eating away at me, too."

Chandler then nodded solemnly at her, before walking out the door.

"Who was that?" Ross wondered.

Monica, however, did not hear Ross. She merely sighed and watched as Chandler walked down the hall and out of sight. Part of her wanted to follow, but her feet seemed to be glued to the floor.

-

Joey pounded mercilessly on Chandler's bedroom door, but Chandler refused to budge. This had been going on for twenty minutes. Chandler hadn't left his bedroom since he saw Monica. When he arrived home, he refused to even look Joey in the eye and he ignored his pleas to tell him what happened. Now, completely distraught and disheveled, Chandler lay face down on his bed, stiff and unthinking.

Finally, after some time, Joey had evidently given up pounding on the door because there was silence. After a moment, Chandler heard muffled voices and covered his head with his pillow. Whoever it was, Chandler did not care to think about them. No, he much rather lay there – not quite thinking about the cause of all his distress, yet at the same time knowing the pain was there deep in his heart for that very reason.

The knocking resumed and Chandler buried himself even more under the covers.

"Go away!" he yelled.

He was in no mood to share any details with Joey. He was utterly humiliated by what he had done and especially by what he had admitted to Monica. He wanted to curl up into a ball on his bed and never see the world again.

"Chandler!" Joey called, "Chandler, someone's here to see you!"

Great, just what he needed – visitors.

"I don't want to see anyone!"

"Yeah, Chandler, I think you do!"

"No, for the last time, go away!"

There was a pause and some shuffling outside his door. Chandler listened, curious, despite himself.

"Chandler?"

He felt his blood run cold at the sound of her familiar yet foreign voice. It pierced the very essence of him.

"Chandler, can we please talk?"

Suddenly, Chandler jumped up, hopping in his place as he pulled his pants over his boxers and fixed his hair all at once. In less than minute, Chandler was opening the door and staring at Monica. She looked back at him, suddenly filled with extreme anxiety. She backed away from the doorframe so that Chandler could enter the living room. As he did so, his eyes never left hers.

"Right," Joey called awkwardly, "I'm just gonna – go get some coffee. See you guys later!"

Neither of them acknowledged his comment, although they were both grateful for it, and he slipped away without another word. Silence filled the room as Chandler walked over to the refrigerator and offered her a drink. She declined. Silence again. Chandler dubiously studied her again. He would say something, despite the loud thumping of his heart in his chest, but he really had nothing to say. It was she who had come to him.

"So…"

"Yeah, I guess I should – yeah," she rambled incoherently, "I came here for a reason."

"So I gathered."

"What you said last night – you were right," upon his shocked silence she continued, "I am alone. I'm so alone that it scares me to my very core. I don't want to be alone anymore," her eyes filled with tears, "I don't want to be hurt, but I especially don't want to be alone. Solitude is more painful than anything else," Chandler nodded wordlessly, "You're also right that I love you. I don't know how, I don't know when, but somehow you – you managed to do it," she shook her head, "I thought I'd hardened myself."

"Love isn't about softening," he heard himself unconsciously mumble, "Love is about giving in to your most instinctive desire. It's allowing yourself to feel emotion – comfort _and _pain. Love is all of that. You're stabbing my heart, Monica, and yet – you're the one thing that keeps me living."

"That's exactly how I feel," she whispered.

Taking that as a sign, Chandler approached her slowly. Although there was still a gap between their bodies, Chandler wrapped his arms around Monica's waist. She made no move to pull away, so he allowed his fingers to tenderly roam over the soft skin of her face. She felt her muscles relax as his fingers reached her lips and lightly brushed against them.

Simultaneously, they closed the gap. Chandler's lips hovered slightly above Monica's, and she could feel his breath on her skin. Her lips parted and immediately she felt Chandler's lips upon hers. She sighed and closed her eyes, as she felt the warmth of his body against hers fill up all the cold, aching holes inside her heart.

Finally, she was not alone.

**_A/N: _**_So, that only took us – a year to finish? Not bad, eh? Anyway, if all goes according to plan, an epilogue will be posted in the near future, so hang tight. Please leave a review – thanks for reading! :) _


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